Cat's Eyes
by Ivory Moon
Summary: When hope, rage, and despair have been exhausted, what is left of a man? A Sirius Black vignette.


Title: Cats' Eyes

  
  


Author: Ivory Moon

  
  


Archive: If you want it, let me know first. Email address is in my bio.

  
  


Rating: PG

  
  


Summary: When hope, anger, and despair are exhausted, what is left of a man? A Sirius Black vignette.

  
  


Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters, but I own the words.

  
  


Author's Note: Probably not too original, it's my first Harry Potter fic. I appreciate reviews, and I'm not afraid of flames. Let them come. No, but really, let me know what you think. Use the little purple button at the bottom of your screen. Clicky click, easy as that. 

  
  


This story is fairly dark, though, dealing with the resignation of a prisoner who has forgotten the world outside. 

  
  


Thanks to Sun Queen, my devoted beta reader.

  
  


Enjoy, Ivy. 

  
  
  
  


It's dark in here. It always is. Not literally, of course. There's a window, high up the wall, with heavy iron bars as thick as my arm. Well, perhaps as thick as my arm when I first arrived. I'm too tired now to compare. I'm certain my limbs have become wasted, lying alone in this pit.

  
  


Welcome to Azkaban, they said. That was twelve years ago.

  
  


But the darkness hasn't changed. Tiny shafts of light drift through the window, but they can never lessen the pervading gloom. The darkness of the Dementors, the anguish of prisoners forced to live their worst memories over and over...

  
  


I listen to them screaming in the night, sometimes. And I idly wonder why I am not like them. Why have I not been reduced to a babbling wreck? I used to believe it was because I was innocent. But now I'm not so sure.

  
  


Voldemort. Lily and James. Remus. Professor Dumbledore. Even Peter Pettigrew. These names hold less and less meaning every day. Intellectually, I can remember everything that happened: the war, the events that led to my capture. But my heart has forgotten the sound of James' laugh, Remus' wolfish grin, the colour of Lily's eyes. This used to frighten me. Now I view it with an eerie calm. It's not natural, I'm sure. Perhaps the Dementors are getting to me more than I thought.

  
  


They're screaming again. Death Eaters, Voldemort's supporters unlucky enough to be captured. Now these once fearsome soldiers of evil are reduced to quivering shadows, howling for their mothers.

  
  


This almost makes me laugh. Who could I scream for? My friends? Hardly. Lily and James are dead, Remus could be dead for all I know. Peter, the betrayer...

  
  


Try as hard as I might, I can't even muster any outrage over Peter's traitorous actions anymore. I'm just so tired of it all.

  
  


Wish I could remember the colour of Lily's eyes...

  
  


A rattle of keys interrupts my introspection, followed by the indignant screeching of rusted hinges. A door down the hall is opening. Even my almost dormant mind is aroused by curiosity. Careful Sirius, I chuckle cynically. Remember what curiosity did to the proverbial cat.

  
  


Damn. Cheerful thought. With my mind's eye, I see Dementors sweeping towards me, like long-dead wraiths still reeking from the grave. I feel my soul being buffeted by waves of blackness, which terrified me when I first arrived. Now I scream, cringing and huddling as a good prisoner should. They cannot know that they hardly affect me anymore...nothing does. 

  
  


My punishment has been carried out in an instant by the hooded figure outside the door: it probably didn't even have to move. But my curiosity is undeterred. Footsteps echo loudly in the dank corridor, providing an interesting counterpoint to the groaning of the insane. Funny how such thoughts don't bother me anymore. I wonder if I can still be considered human.

  
  


But even more interesting: a voice is speaking. A nervous quaver in it, to be sure, this man does not want to be here. This prompts another cynical half-smile: who would want to be here?

  
  


I momentarily focus, straining to hear what the man is saying.

  
  


"...must say, I dislike these inspection tours. I don't see why I had to be involved this time, anyway."

  
  


The footsteps are closer, and the voice is louder. It continues complaining, the man seems petulant, almost childlike. I crane my neck to look out the bar-covered door of my cell. I doubt I could move off my bunk even if I tried.

  
  


Were Lily's eyes brown, like those rust covered bars? I don't think so.

  
  


A blindingly dressed wizard and his aide stop outside my door, flanked by several Dementors. He wears neon blue robes, and has a purple bowler hat clutched tightly in both hands. Under one arm he carries a battered newspaper. Even *I* can recognize him: Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. 

  
  


He looks uneasy, but his expression changes as he regards me, until he seems positively smug. I know what he sees: a filthy skeleton with lank, unwashed black hair, and dull, almost lifeless eyes. A success case of Azkaban.

  
  


"Ah, if it isn't Sirius Black. Are you enjoying your stay? Your lodgings aren't as nice as those that your master once provided, perhaps, but we try our hardest."

  
  


His tone is positively gloating. He must be certain that I can't hear a word he says. I can scarcely keep my lip from curling in disgust. Coward. Then, from a heart too tired to feel anymore, I am surprised by a sudden flash of anger and pride. Who is he to treat me this way? A snivelling little wizard who only feels safe with iron bars and several Dementors between us. I want to show him that Azkaban has not destroyed me as much as he'd like.

  
  


I slowly pull myself into a sitting position, biting back a scream of pain that tries to claw its way past my throat. Finally, I can stare him in the eye, and I'm gratified to see a flash of surprise and fear on his face.

  
  


"My cell is quite comfortable, Mr. Fudge. Thank you for asking." My voice rasps in my own ears. How long has it been since I last spoke? No matter. I try my hardest to project an air of superiority, as if he is the prisoner and I am the man looking in.

  
  


He's shaken by my attitude, I can tell. He probably expected a soulless wreck, huddled in a corner. Frantically, I cast around for something else to say, something normal, and my eyes fall on his newspaper. "Do you mind if I borrow your newspaper?" I ask, trying to force my rasping voice to sound polite. "I miss doing the crossword."

  
  


There. That's a reasonable request, and it seems to frighten Fudge out of his wits. Well, good. The prisoner of Azkaban must be amused somehow. Yet he nods, more a jerk of his head, really, and his aide takes the paper and gingerly tosses it through the bars.

  
  


Darkness slams into me once more, even as I laugh at Fudge's actions. "Really, sir," I comment almost sarcastically. "I'm not going to bite, and I am certainly not going to kill you to escape."

  
  


"Why not?" Fudge snaps, trying unsuccessfully to look brave. "It didn't stop you twelve years ago."

  
  


I wince. Probably deserved that one. Once, I would have claimed my innocence, desperately tried to make him believe...now, I simply don't care. "Oh, don't fret, Minister. The most hospitable Dementors are quite enough to keep me in line." I grin. A long time ago, my smile was called charming. I wonder what it looks like now. A death-head grin, probably. 

  
  


Oh, damn. The minister and his frightened aide are hurrying away. I muster up enough strength for a final shot. "Sleep soundly, Mr. Fudge. Sirius Black is safely locked away."

  
  


'Well that was bright, Sirius,' the rational part of my mind scolds me. 'Threatening the Minister for Magic.' 

  
  


'Who cares?' I snap right back. 'It's not like I'm ever leaving.' 

  
  


If possible, the minister starts walking even faster, his blue robes flapping behind him. Hmm, were Lily's eyes that striking shade of blue? I can't remember. Wish I could. Then maybe I could care again. After all, the woman was like a sister to me.

  
  


The battered Daily Prophet is still lying a few feet from my cot. I have a sudden desire to know what's going on outside these walls. I stretch my arm towards it, muscles long-unused screaming in pain. My fingers scrabble about it momentarily, then grip it firmly. I flop bonelessly to the cot once more, my body exhausted from even this slight exertion. Soon, I feel strong enough to unfold the paper. Immediately I see a wizard family waving at me: they'd won some contest or other.

  
  


What the hell. I slowly read the article, most of it meaningless to me. Except one part. Hogwarts. I'm drawn back to ancient memories, the stately castle, the dark forest, the immaculately kept green lawns...

  
  


I suddenly pull my eyes back to the picture.

  
  


A certain rat perched on a boy's shoulder.

Hogwarts.

Green lawns.

  
  


I realize exactly what Peter has been doing these twelve years while I've rotted away.

  
  


And I remember. Lily's eyes were green, just like her son's.

  
  


"He's at Hogwarts..." I whisper.

  
  


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